


The Thought Lingers

by darlingcarmilla



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - Fandom
Genre: Angst I guess, Brooding, F/F, Romance, it's kinda just a little one shot, nothing too heavy?? maybe, of carm's thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:39:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4339733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingcarmilla/pseuds/darlingcarmilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmilla's thoughts on pretending in an overly romantic and broody style.<br/>(Inspired by the scene where Carmilla asks Laura to pretend they'll run away)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thought Lingers

I sit, as one does... comfortably, in a way. I take more comfort in the sameness... the stillness. In stillness I have no purpose, no motion is necessary, there is no threat of being made to move, or change. The warmth surrounding me, slowly growing under and around me... it is more comforting in its reminder of the stillness I have been allowed than an antidote to the cold. It's so nice, simple... sitting there. I could dream and wonder all I like, and Laura has not once roused me. It's nice... to see her work, in mostly silence. Without the documentation... narration, I could pretend. Even if she doesn't want to pretend.

Even if she was so rooted in this cause, in being ever present. I understand, in a way... the need to be present, there. I'm sure at some point I was much the same. Rooted in the current affairs and problems... though it's admirable, I no longer hold that guilt, at least not to my actions. I may see it, dancing about my mind, but I do not let the guilt control me, and I will not obey it. Not out of callousness... although it may seem so... over the years I may have even grown to become callous. But initially I began this disobedience to get by, to live, to survive. Had I not become a rebel to my own guilt I might have died a thousand times over. I know I did for Laura. But she is different. She is tied to my love.

I often obey love. Romantic or otherwise... I find it is one of the few non-violent emotions entwined with passion. Romance... perhaps interest. But passion, it can lead one to do many things. It is one of the few emotions I allow free reign in my mind. I can act out of passion, love, selfishness... perhaps greed, or for Mother, as it had been... loyalty, or fear. But rarely guilt. I have found it does not serve me well. At least, the guilt which ruled me for a little while after I escaped from the coffin Mother had forced me into. After Ell, after pain and grief, I was ruled almost entirely by guilt, and fear... 

When I returned to Mother I knew I could not live ruled by it. My guilt... and so here I live. In my death and resurrection, I have been created and recreated and through it all I have lived and lived on. Though I may not deserve it... and I know Laura helps with that... the guilt. She is often a beautiful product of the acts guilt induces. Guilt and bravery. She yields to the emotions loyally, and readily... to serve all and any that might suffer. It is, in some ways, to my mind... incomprehensible. In my long, laboured, odd life. Perhaps one that I have not earned in my deservingness... yet, I see her, and what she cares for, her passions and her oddities... and I am drawn to her.

Stranger yet, she is drawn to me. I cannot see it clearly, the reasoning behind her interest. I know children often are fickle, they view all love as incomprehensible, illogical, a strange, pretty coincidence. But I have lived long enough to see... if not my own patterns, that of those around me. Love is not chance, a flight of fancy. It is slow, and gradual... understanding. Attraction to things, traits, movement... the ambiance one creates... so many small pieces fit together as a whole to create affection. But sometimes the pieces are not real. Deceptions, illusions... 

I don't know what pieces make up Laura's affection for me. I can see it... she has so much love in her eyes, at times I think I might burst. It is not something I had ever expected... something like this. Such feeling, and comfort and caring... but many a time I have heard a phrase... a tone of voice, something I catch that seems as if she is seeing me, not as I am... but made of parts, some true, yes, but some false. Some lies, illusions, perhaps some ideas she has created... slowly in her mind, she has created a perfect hero. And she thinks it is a piece which justifies her affections. And so I sit here, numbly.

I pretend she does not care, whether I am a hero... what I have done, and what I am... I pretend we can run away, and that guilt has no part in her decisions, I pretend she will run away with me, because she loves me. I pretend she can see everything as I see it. Whole, expanding on forever and ever... a random intertwining continuum of things we cannot control or foresee. Of things which we might fear... I pretend she too can see a world where the best chance is to hold onto your loved ones as tightly and carefully as you can and to keep them as safe as you might. 

I know she does not see these things... she cannot understand how and why I see things, not exactly. Not if I explained to her a thousand times. I know it cannot be done. Not until she has watched her friends burn, until she mustn't weep until her guardian is gone. Until she has been trapped underground in a coffin, bloody and dirty and left, still... to think over your own self hatred, fear, and guilt for so many years... until she has run, starving to bite a girl, and then to see her poor corpse, lifeless and innocent... until she has learned to see the innocent the same way you view everything... equal, because unless you do... you cannot live with yourself.

So as Laura works and moves... gradually, but steadily, dedicated to her cause, I am not surprised she does not want to pretend. Only sad... I know my fantasy is not a healthy one. It will not help us, but I cling to it anyway, and I know, selfishly, I wish she would too. But she is right. Sometimes, accidentally wise beyond her years. She would not be herself if she ran away... and I know she cannot pretend to be a lie, someone she could never be. The problem I am trying not to think about, is whether the self that might run away... the my own self in such a fantasy... would that not be my self? I am not certain it wouldn't be me. And if my darling Laura cannot see that, then I'm not certain she sees me... my flaws, and my weaknesses. My disgusting rebellion in the face of guilt, and I am terrified of what she will do when she understand it.

But I pretend and I wait and watch her. I enjoy it while I can... through the madness and the chaos, because I am almost certain it cannot last... this... perhaps Mattie is right. I refuse to agree with her aloud, definitely in clear, perfect, crisp words. Their harshness in an uttered phase might cut me to pieces, and yet the thought lingers...


End file.
